


Phenomena

by zemmeline



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AU, Car Accidents, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Supernatural Elements, pretty sure ive gotten worse with tenses sorry, weird shifty perspectives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:24:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1960092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zemmeline/pseuds/zemmeline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four sides of one story- cause and effect is so much more than a continuous rippling of events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tiny Vessel

Let it be known that there’s not much to be said about the deceased.

But if there were, it must be stated that the dead were once alive as well. They had lives, so to speak, and with that came experiences, emotions, and precious, precious memories. They may have been blessed with a beautiful life, or burdened with a brand of inescapable inner turmoil, but no matter the severity of their impact, all corpses will lay as cold as the other.

An entire person, post-mortem, is reduced to a cosmic imprint. Death is finality- the extreme manifestation of the human condition. One’s ego, personality, likes, dislikes and everything in between are blended together, becoming an unrecognizable collection of impressions and a pile of worldly possessions that are only guaranteed to fade away with time.

Despite his logical intellect and open mind- the result of a near-quarter century’s education and mental conditioning, combined with his own beliefs, Kuroko Tetsuya stands in front of his own still body, reeking of formaldehyde and thinks to himself: _how the fuck did I get here_?

* * *

 

Hospitals are blank, sterile and empty- a cliché not many people would bother to argue against.  However, Kuroko would not consider himself one of these ‘people’ any longer. In fact, it’s because of all the ‘not-people’ present that he’s suddenly become wary and unsure of what to believe. In the supposedly barren basement of the Sasaki General Hospital, the cacophony of confused voices and missing body heat from the aforementioned crowd is overwhelming. Kuroko’s watched enough television to suspect that he and the likened beings are now some sort of supernatural phenomena, because _this_ is not death.

No one in the crowd seems to be paying attention to the blue-haired man, a welcome familiarity in the foreign setting. He sits down, pleased that he’s able to press his back against the concrete wall without passing through it, as another cliché would prompt. Being an open minded young man in possession of stable, logical reason, Tetsuya breathes in and makes a mental list of what he suspects is going on:

  *          He’s most likely dead.
  *          Everyone else around is probably experiencing and/or contemplating the same thing.



He stops at that, and it puzzles him. Shouldn’t he be thinking about his family? Friends? Does he have any? Are they concerned about him? The questions trail off into an uncomfortably empty blank, and he allows it to, because a hush settles throughout the once bustling hallway, and the crowd of not-people part to accommodate a man in an orange lab coat.

The man is dull- a statement not meant to be rude or judgemental, rather an observation of his overall presence. Coming from the _Phantom Sixth Man_ , this should be big news, though Kuroko is instead taken aback by how vividly coloured and detailed the majority of his likened company are in comparison to the greyscale walls and blurred details of the standardized hospital decorations. From a quick scan of faces, Kuroko concludes that he recognizes absolutely none of them, neither do they bring another face to mind.

Looking back towards the lackluster, and possibly _the only_ technically-existing being in the room, Kuroko notices the crowd has chunked off; some were wandering the smudged, minimalist background while others chose to stand around with other strange, dead ‘ _people’_ and discuss their circumstances. The majority, on the other hand had disappeared, though Kuroko has no time to contemplate where they went, because of the large, red figure hunched next to his earlier abandoned corpse.

He appears to be speaking to the dull man in the garish scrubs, but that detail is one Tetsuya finds irrelevant because Taiga is directly in front of him; though he’s looking considerably underfed, with the rims of his eyes matching his hair, his light shines brighter than anyone else in the room. To add to the already sizable tally of the day’s unexplained events, Kuroko suddenly remembers (what he assumes to be) everything.

The pavement was slippery and the air brisk, not uncommon in Tokyo during the winter months. The anticipatory excitement is what comes to him first, and then the plastic grocery bags that had been cutting into his palms, weighed down with that evenings supposed dinner ingredients. Despite the frigid air, he’s warm at the thoughts of spending the evening of his birthday with Taiga, an increasingly rare treat, as opportunities for spare time seem to be dwindling as quickly as their careers are taking off.

Then he remembers the skidding. There is the sound of tires screeching, and perhaps an onlooker’s screamed warning, and then road blocks are thrust towards his fragile, unsuspecting body, and that body is flung off the overhang, along with his scattered purchases and the broken chunks of cement, and Kuroko can’t remember any more.

The documents that lay by his head claim he had drowned, though a serious concussion was the main cause of death. In his dead mind’s eye, he struggles to recall the very moment it happened, but there are no horrendous flashbacks of blood, or even the phantom feeling of the crushing pressure from the icy water. He looks up at Kagami’s hunched form; white knuckled and trembling.

“-it’s fortunate that both the witness and the driver had taken immediate action. Sumida tends to freeze over around this time, and the body may have been unrecoverable by the time spring came around.”

Kuroko is almost tempted to laugh at Kagami’s green expression at the coroner’s blunt words, but the gravity of the situation proves too heavy. He wonders briefly if anyone has cried for him, and then speculates whether he could he cry for himself.

Not that he feels the need, he’s just curious about what human functions his newly assumed ‘body’ is capable of.

* * *

 

Kuroko leaves the hospital with very little fanfare. There is no melting in the sunlight, accidentally walking through walls, or even an encounter with one of _his own_. In fact, the more time he spends following Kagami and being in close proximity to him, the clearer his surroundings become.

It doesn’t take long for Kuroko to figure out that Kagami can’t hear or see him. Despite this being customary, there’s absolutely nothing he can do to make him aware of his presence and that makes his chest ache a little harder. Kuroko’s tried to drop and throw things, just to see what would happen, yet his incorporeal flesh had no effect on any tangible object.  Instead, the day is spent doing paperwork and dealing with the personal effects Kuroko had left behind.

Kagami picks up the phone a few times, usually to speak to Kuroko’s -no doubt- grieving mother or make appointments with florists and funeral parlors. His heart swells at this because in reality; he and Taiga are only roommates. Sure, he’s his best friend, but he was under no obligation to do so much for him and his family. It’s then that Kuroko’s already still heart stops at the idea that his feelings for the redhead may have been returned.

 No. No this is just the afterlife taking its toll on his sanity.

It’s a little saddening watching Kagami lay out Kuroko’s belongings and stare forlornly at the scant pile of clothes and books, among few other things. Not even Number Two padding out from under Tetsu’s bed to lay by Kagami’s feet is enough to deter him. Both just stare silently at the arrangement and it’s so disheartening that Tetsu has to leave them to take a breather in the kitchen.

Kuroko isn’t sure why it is, but the true severity of the situation is lost on him. Life after death had never been something he spent much time pondering. He was familiar with the human condition and even accepting of the fleeting quality of life, yet he never felt the need to think of what would happen to him after he died. He was young, rational and healthy, so there were very few reasons for him to think about death in so much detail. If anything, he’s puzzled. He recalls the other resurrected souls at the hospital- most of them were around his age, looking much too young to be taken from their lives.  If he had been fortunate enough to die at a much later date, he might’ve been content with living an afterlife of absolutely nothing.

However, when he peeks at Kagami and Number Two, curled up asleep on his bed, he realizes he’s glad to be there.

* * *

 

The wake and funeral were the most uncomfortable chain of events Kuroko had ever been forced to witness. Given, he could’ve stayed at home, yet he couldn’t bring himself to miss the product of Kagami’s hard work over the last week. To his surprise, the funeral was mainly traditional. Had he been alive, he would describe the feeling as an out of body experience- the cloying smell of the incense combined with the image of his kimono-clad vessel left him lightheaded, though he had to admit it wasn’t as bad as the pre-cremation process.

He has never been very emotional, but while he is sensitive to the feelings of others, he’d be able to keep a handle on his own feelings usually while calming the opposite party. With that being said, hearing his mother’s stifled sobs and watching his father’s face crumple after they had slid his corpse into the cremating chamber was enough for him to leave the room and search for Kagami.

Kuroko knew well enough that he was dead and Kagami couldn’t detect him in the slightest, yet when Kagami had bid the last guest (a pink-haired girl) goodbye and sat in the empty funeral parlour, Kuroko let the gentle sniffles and muffled whimpering from his roommate chase him back outside.

Sitting on a bench at a park eleven blocks away, Kuroko became aware that he had indeed maintained the human ability to cry.

* * *

 

Things seemed to simmer down for the two the following week. Kagami returned to his firefighting job and Kuroko spent his time wandering the city and watching strangers just as he always had. With a sudden influx of free time, Kuroko found himself thinking much more than he usually did, about topics he tried to avoid.

Strolling along the Sumida River one morning, Kuroko thought about his killer. He still had no recollection of his death, but he couldn’t find it in him to be vengeful, or even angry. Surely, whoever had hit him didn’t mean to do it; if anything, survivor’s guilt must be on the forefront of their mind. Besides, there was no sense in resenting someone for something that can’t be undone.

Kuroko half-expected to be zapped into the glorified version of the afterlife at his internal admission, but nothing of the sort happened.

Instead, Number Two appeared at his side, tongue hanging out and looking up at Kuroko playfully.

Despite himself, he reached down to pat his dog on the head, and from the pleased slant his eyes took, he knew the sensation was received. Smiling to himself, Kuroko picked up a stick and tossed it in the direction of home. Though it didn’t sail through the air as much as it stayed on the ground completely unaffected, Number Two ran after it anyway.

He stood up from the river, completely untouched and unaffected by the body of iced water, and made his way back.

* * *

 

Time seemed to pass much slower without anything to do. Kuroko’s afterlife was composed mostly of staring at his apartment walls and wandering the familiar streets of his hometown. While he figured he was free enough to go wherever he pleased, the more distance that was put between Kuroko and Kagami, the more undefined his surroundings would become.

Morbidly enough, Kuroko would find himself questioning the outcome. He theorized that if he traveled far enough for a lengthy amount of time, he would cease to exist, or everything around him would fall out of his own perception of existence.

When Kuroko was alive, he wouldn’t necessarily hide his feelings from his roommate and best friend, yet he would never have dreamt of acting on them either. He was perpetually stuck only being able to pine for the redhead, out of duty to his family and respect of their traditional views. To Kuroko, this situation is where the true tragedy lies.  

The ache in the blue-eyed man’s chest is a constant reminder to himself of his failure to take the plunge while his heart could still beat. At least then he had a chance- whether it be Kagami returning his feelings, or somehow managing to convince his parents to accept his desires. Any and every of those potential events were taken from him even before his death. Every time Kuroko shied away and chose not to reveal what he truly felt, his chances of getting what he wanted would be chipped away until he was left with nothing but vacant air.

* * *

 

For quite some time, Kuroko was just an undetectable presence lurking around Kagami’s home. He never once gave any thought as to whether Taiga could sense him until that night.

Kuroko was laying on his bed, staring at the bookshelf housing his favorite novels- the ones Kagami evidently couldn’t find in himself to sell or donate. Granted, his efforts at sliding them out and opening them remained as fruitless as the first time he had attempted it.

The night outside his window was still and white, as it normally was around that time of year. Other than Number Two’s light snores, the apartment was quiet.

“Kuroko.”

He spun away from his window to face the direction his name had come from. Knowing well enough that it could only have been Kagami, he ventured towards his bedroom.

His roommate was seated on his own bed, hunched over with his elbows rested on spread knees, facing the wall that resided between their rooms. Despite his solid stance, the wringing hands and uneasy fidgeting gave away his self-consciousness.

“I-“ He cut himself off. “I just wanted to talk.” A pause. A hand scratching behind his neck.

“You must think I’m going absolutely batshit with the way I’m speaking like you can hear me.” A forced chuckle.  “But that’s just it. Y’know, sometimes I’m sure that you can hear me. I can feel your eyes on my back which is weird because I never could when you were alive.” His forced laughter chokes off at the end.

For the years that he’s known him, Kuroko would’ve never figured Kagami to be the intuitive type. If anything, he lacked sensitivity and foresight.  However, just the sound of his name and the fact that Kagami was addressing him directly was enough for Kuroko’s unneeded breath to catch in his throat.

“I really miss you, Kuroko. I’m not- I mean,” he covers his face with his hands and drags down. “You know I’m not good with words, but I have to get this out.” Kagami assumes his original position, though his back isn’t as defeated as it last was.

“I’m going crazy, and I don’t just mean because I’m speaking to the wall and letting myself believe you can hear me.” He clears his throat. “I met the guys who hit you. The bastard couldn’t come to your funeral; he made his assistant come in his place to send his condolences and whatever.” A scoff. “He’s a bastard, an outright dickhead and I knew it from the moment I met him.” Kagami raises a hand to run through his hair angrily. “But he’s persistent, and he keeps trying to make up for hitting my best friend- like anything he does could bring you back, ha!” The crack in his voice echoes off his bedroom walls and Kagami realizes he’s panting and there’s the unmistakable pinch behind his eyes.

By now, Kuroko is standing at the entrance of Kagami’s room, not quite sure what to do with himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurs to him that this is the first time he’d ever seen his best friend cry. There are a few minutes of agonizing quiet, punctured only by Kagami’s wet breathing.

“I’m sorry, Kuroko. If you can hear me, this is probably the last thing you’d want to witness, right?” Standing from his bed, Kagami leans against the wall and slides down, hugging his knees to his chest. The position looks out of place on his giant, lumbering frame, but everything about this situation is strange and new for Kuroko.

“Aomine Daiki’s one of those bigshot pieces of shit, but no one can deny that it was an _accident_ ,” Kagami’s voice turns bitter at the word. “So he’s pestering me with these dumb, fancy dinners and other pointless expensive things. He paid for your funeral, did you know?”

Kuroko didn’t, but it doesn’t matter because he can already feel the direction Kagami’s monologue was taking.

 “He’s an idiot for thinking he could buy my forgiveness, and he didn’t. He couldn’t, Kuroko.” Kagami takes a breath and a pause here, and Kuroko can feel the finality.

“I can feel you here Kuroko, so forgive me. Aomine is an idiot, he’s the most pretentious shithead I’ve ever met, but he’s remorseful. No, more than that- he’s understanding, and good at listening, which I guess makes him a right sly bastard if he got me to speak to him long enough to earn that title.” Then he smirks, it’s hardly a twitch of his mouth, but it’s enough to spike Kuroko’s imaginary heart rate.

“He plays ball too. I think you guys would’ve gotten along.” Kagami’s face falls once more, and Kuroko is already sure of why. “This is so hard, speaking to your dead best friend, telling him you’ve fallen for the guy who’s killed him. It’s wrong, and I’m so sorry, but Daiki’s really helped me and your parents. They miss you a lot, by the way.” Kagami stands then, turning to face Kuroko. Though he should be startled, Kuroko can only feel warmth bloom throughout him for the first time in ages. His best friend is staring straight at him, addressing him directly for the first time in too long. “You deserved the world, Kuroko, and I wish you could’ve met the one to give it to you before you left.”

Those words could’ve been the last nail in the proverbial coffin for the blue-haired man, but Kagami drives it in and buries it with his final words.

“Happy birthday Tetsu, we miss you.”

Not for the first time since he’s died, Kuroko realizes he was wrong. Time passes by much too fast when you’re dead.

* * *

 

Aomine Daiki visits their apartment a week after.

From the finality evident in Kagami’earlier soliloquy, Kuroko’s not surprised, although he is slightly amused at how accurate Kagami’s crude description had been. Translating Kagami’s many forms of the word ‘idiot’, Aomine Daiki is uppity and grandiose, but he is not shallow or materialistic. Kuroko could easily see the deep care he held for Kagami, and that’s when he figured the dark haired man wasn’t a bad person in the slightest.

He had resolved long ago that his killer was not to blame. It had been an odd conclusion to come to, but an easy one none the less. There was an easy sense of companionship that drifted between the two, yet Kuroko could not deny the electric passion that resided there as well. He felt a twinge of resentment at that, as Kuroko knew that there was no way he could’ve ever sparked that within Kagami, together or not.

Sometime after their shouting match during their video game scuffle, Kuroko hears clamoring in the kitchen. He peeks out in time to see Aomine put his hand on Kagami’s hip as his best friend moves in to spoon a sample of the pasta sauce into Aomine’s mouth, and that same mouth smiles back as it moves closer to Kagami’s.

Kuroko ducks out before he can witness anymore.

Kuroko isn’t sure how, but the prospect of a physical relationship with Kagami never seemed like a possibility, so he never bothered touching down on it. However, witnessing the intimacy between the two still hurts him a little bit. Not only having to see Kagami with someone else- actually, Kuroko realizes, that’s not even a problem anymore. Instead, the biggest upset is knowing he’ll never again have a chance to stand in Aomine’s place- with Kagami or anyone else.

He falls back on his bed, his incorporeal body making no noise at all. Looking out his window, he sees the lonely white snow against the urban Tokyo backdrop. It’s a big, big world, and he knows without a doubt that he has plenty of time left. Everything is clear to him at that moment, and a smile comes to Kuroko at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I have no idea where most of this came from. For me, Kuroko no Basket is my lighthearted fandom; angst is minimal, but enjoyable in small quantities. 
> 
> So of course, I just go ahead and kill the sweetest character there and make everyone else cope.
> 
> Anyway, there'll be three more chapters of this bullshit, and I'm so sorry.
> 
> (p.s.- you can find me on Tumblr: zemmeline.tumblr.com)


	2. Waiting on Words

“Satsuki, bring the car around.”

His childhood friend cum paralegal partner is already on her phone, presumably with the driver, as her only response to his command is an eye roll. Always ahead of the game, that one.

The trial went without a hitch, which is to be expected from a defense attorney with a 100% success rate. Granted, his client, Hanamiya Makoto was a skilled enough corporate liar ( _incliner_ , he once called himself) to begin with, so this was an easy one for Aomine. After winning the case and pushing the defendant through the crowd of reporters, journalists and various angry characters, he could finally step back and have a moment to himself.

At another time in his life, Aomine would’ve been ecstatic, still caught in the thrill of a victory with a strong inclination to celebrate with a few drinks and a few girls. Now, at the back-cracking, knee-locking age of thirty two, he just wanted to lie down.

Of course he knew he was still young- despite the aching muscles and creaking joints, he was healthy and athletic and had the body to prove it. In the back of his mind, Aomine was aware that he has every right to be boastful, but his experience with people had given him a certain amount of dislike for any kind of insolence.

Aomine is good at what he does, this is acknowledged by his superiors and the general public, but backed up in the results of his trials. Criminal law was not easy, especially when one was often hired by the defendants that had every finger (rightfully, in most cases) pointed towards them. Stereotypically, Aomine is a professional liar, though even before he really settled into his occupation, he could’ve never dreamed of how dishonest the job really was.

There was not so much lying involved as there was complete manipulation of truth and evidence as well as the controlled variable of human inconsistency. It’s not at all that Aomine Daiki is remorseless, he’s heard the absolute truth of crimes- every ugly, gory detail graphically depicted by his clients. In all honesty, it was thrilling for him when he began- he’d place himself in the described moment and imagine every detailed act to be committed by him. He’d think of possible excuses he would’ve made up had he been there as the client: _“I was scared and the knife was right there,” “I couldn’t help that her skirt was so short,” “He owed me money and he wouldn’t pay”._

Criminal court is the most corrupt and crowded of the legal systems.  There is still the standard amount of decorum as present as in any of the other court, yet the unmistakable tang of human bias can’t be covered up by a faulted sense of justice and legal jargon. Human qualities and its overwhelming presence in criminal cases are what grant the perpetrators shorter sentences and a slap on the wrist, provided they meet certain standards and requirements. With enough thought, manipulative wit, and luck (or perhaps skill, there’s no certain way to tell) anything can be passed off as human error.

A black Lincoln stops in front of him. By definition, a lawyer is a person whose profession is to represent clients in a court of law, and Aomine Daiki does it to a T. The valet steps out of the front seat and Daiki slips him a twenty. Momoi is already in the passenger seat, tapping out a message on her phone by the time he sits down.

 _Criminals breed criminals_ , he breathes to himself and pulls away from the curb.

* * *

 

The change in season brings no great change in pace. Crime rates haven’t gone up or down, and therefore neither has his success rate or paycheque.

Slipping out of a crowded courthouse into the brisk January air is a welcome change in temperature and noise level. He had won another case, though as opposed to the last few clients, he felt this one especially deserved a stiff drink and vacation.

He sighed. He knew he shouldn’t leave all the post-court explanations and interviews to Satsuki, but he couldn’t help but be distracted by the air. Today felt different- stagnant, like the blue-grey afternoon sky was waiting for something to happen, and refused to move until it did.

With another sigh, Aomine makes his way back inside, ready to face the torrents of media questions and even more congratulations that are only followed by useless spouting of his ingenious. From recent articles, it’s come to his attention that he is referred to as The Ace because of his supposed mastery of justice and courtroom politics. He snorted at that the first time

Out of sheer willpower, he manages to smile through the interviews and reporters, giving the standardized vague answers to any and every question thrown his way. By the end of it all, Satsuki blows him a kiss goodbye and he marches to the underground parking garage, promising himself a drink and a solid ten hours of sleep when he gets home.

 _Perhaps this is where I went wrong_ , he’ll think to himself later. Because on the mindless, overly familiar trek home, the January weather had worsened, forcing road construction workers to turn in for the day. Because the poor visibility only gave more leeway to his tired mind as the murky Sumida waters gave to the heavy fog. Because the moisture from the fog and heat from his SUV caused Aomine to hydroplane into the semi-permanent concrete barricade, but even as he frantically steered the car back into his control, there was no mistaking the flash of pale skin and blue eyes that were suddenly not there anymore. 

With his heart in either his stomach or his throat, Daiki throws his door open- hoping for the same pale face and brown jacket, but knowing that it was unlikely. The blood is ponding in his ears and streaming through his veins at a pace he knows should not be healthy, so he can’t help but belatedly notice a man with dark hair asking him if he’s alright.

Without answering, he shoves past the man to peer down over the makeshift bridge into-  
nothing.

The water is dark and the fog won’t bother to be chased away by Aomine’s increasing desperation. Dusty chunks of broken concrete and a bright blue plastic bag with a leek peeking out lie beside Aomine and he realizes with a lurch that he may have just killed someone.

A barrage of emotions crash into him at once: the fatigue from earlier morphs into nauseating guilt tailed by helplessness. He hardly notices the black haired stranger’s cautious advances before he pulls out his cell phone to call Satsuki-

The man in the river needs an ambulance- and a rescue team and the police, the police definitely need to be here so they can take him away and question what had happened-

_“There’s been an accident.”_

Though his lips were numb from the cold and shock, Aomine knew the words had not come from his own mouth, but from the stranger in the green jacket, who was speaking into his phone.

 _“-llooo? Dai-chan? What’d you call me for?”_   He can’t remember dialing, but he clears his throat anyway.”

“Satsuki, there’s been an accident.”

* * *

 

The next three days are a blur to Aomine.

After 72 hours of paperwork, questions ( _interrogations_ ), and migraine-inducing phone calls predominantly to his panicked mother and insurance companies, Aomine finally has a few hours’ worth of the quiet moments he’s craved. He falls into his cold, unmade bed and lays awake, staring at the dark ceiling and willing for anything other than the white static that fills his mind.

Morbidly, he wishes he could replay the disaster, but only succeeds in seeing the plastic supermarket bag and its lonely contents spread throughout the ice cold pavement.

Aomine sits up in his bed to rest his elbows on bent knees. Over the course of the last three days, Daiki found himself mulling over his values more thoughtfully than he had ever in his life, an amazing feat for one who’s been involved in law for over ten years.

He was under no impression that the accident had been anything but a complete _accident_ , and neither was anyone else involved, yet that wouldn’t stop the slow, solidified, block of guilt to be forcing itself straight outward from his chest, attempting to pull his organs and tissues out with it.

According to Momoi, the boy he hit had been a recent literature graduate- working at the library for the past six years and volunteering to read to children for even longer than that. The worst part of this news had not been that he had hit a saint with his car, but rather the adjoining confirmation that the saint in question had passed away earlier that morning. Thinking about the blue eyed boy pushed the block out further, and made Aomine curl up further into himself out of guilt and nausea. It was a strange thing to do- think of dead strangers, that is.

The rational part of his brain reminded him that it had been pure accident- an unfortunate result of bad weather conditions and misplaced attention from both parties. However, that traitorous part of his mind and another darker fraction of his psyche reminded him of the potential and life that boy may have been full of. He might’ve had a family who loved him, as well as friends and colleagues who cared, and even if he had none of those and was as lonely as Aomine, if not more, the boy had a life and he took it from him.

It’s Sunday morning and his excused leave is only in effect until Monday. With great tenacity, Daiki rolls to his side and allows himself to sink into a troubled rest.

* * *

 

Monday isn’t any better than Aomine expects it to be. That’s to say, it’s the shittiest 24 hours he’s had since the accident.

His boss calls him into his office the moment he steps in the building. _The Incident_ , Imayoshi had coined it, was _hush hush_ to everyone but himself, Daiki and Momoi. Belonging to a law firm well known for its grip on the media, Daiki is hardly apprehensive of keeping the accident a secret, yet he can’t help the burst of forthright injustice- stronger than he’s felt for even one of his own cases- that surges beside the guilt.

He lets his boss know as much, words spewing and spilling from his mouth, and before he knows it, Aomine’s boss and best friend are suddenly, uncharacteristically privy to the most honest thoughts and emotions he’s had the last few days, years, if one were to look that far back. He feels dirty- not any better than the shitstains he’s forced to defend in order to make his living. He’s killed a man, one who was not any more or less worthy of death than anyone else. In retrospect, this was the moment Aomine realized he hated his job- not just lying and twisting evidence, or even the greasy characters he’s forced to listen to and defend, no. It’s the undue justice. Where he, an actual killer, (and one who recognizes it too) is willing, perhaps even yearning for a fair chance at punishment and redemption, but is only swept under the rug along with the boy’s corpse and mourning loved ones.

Frowning at him, Imayoshi Shouichi allows Aomine to finish off with harsh breaths and silence. He’s never considered himself a bad person, whatever the qualifications were. The truth is, just as every creation on Earth, be it man-made or God-made, Imayoshi Shouichi was biased. While he’s sure that a defense attorney as successful and accomplished as Aomine Daiki would grasp the concept of human bias fairly easily, the difference between the two was their perception of what was fair and what was not. As far as Imayoshi was concerned, if Aomine had the means (which he did), then it must be utilized. Justice is a false perception crafted by their ancestors in an attempt to branch away from their primitive roots, there is no sense in complicating it with cluttered emotions and guilt.

Removing his glasses, Imayoshi massage the bridge of his nose and looks the blue-haired man in the eye. They’re rimmed with red.

“Aomine, for the sake of the company, we’re covering up this accident. With your reputation and talent, we’re in no position to get involved in any kind of scandal. This is purely business, so you’ll have to take whatever personal issues you are having to the victim’s family yourself.”

As far as Imayoshi can tell, Aomine’s clocked out of their exchange by the end of his first sentence, so he stands, nods to Momoi and leaves them in his office. If anyone can get through to him, it’d be Satsuki.

* * *

 

“Dai-chan?”

No answer.

“Dai-chan, please talk to me.” He angles her head towards her, peering at the worried pink irises.

“I already did said everything there is to know, Satsuki.” _It’s just like him_ , she thinks to herself, _to shut me out like this._

“Well, I went to Tetsu-kun’s funeral today.”

“Don’t.”

“Aomine-kun..?”

“Don’t address him like you knew him.”

“His name was Kuroko Tetsuya-“

“I already know that.”

“Dai-chan, please listen to what I have to say.” She huffs this part, making sure to use the tone that reminded him of his mother’s chiding. She takes his silence as an affirmation to continue.

“I spoke with Kuroko-kun’s best friend. He was also his roommate, his name’s Kagami Taiga. I never got to speak with Kuroko’s parents, but I noticed that Kagami-kun would greet each one of the guests; he’d speak and laugh with each one of them as if they were his own family, but even as he consoled the friends and family, he never once cried himself.”

A heartbeat.

And another.

A few more, puncturing the silence with deep breaths.

“Where are you going with this Satsuki?” She stands from her chair and wraps her arms around him.

“Because I want you to know that you’re not alone. I don’t think I can help you, not with something like this, but I’m here to listen, I’ll always be.”

“Satsuki-“

“Dai-chan, I think you should meet with Kagami-kun. He looks like he needs someone to speak to too.” Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Satsuki turns towards the door, leaving Daiki in the chair, staring pensively at the floor.

* * *

 

It takes a few weeks to sort himself out.

He takes leave with minimal bartering from Shouichi, he reorganizes his client files; first alphabetically, and then chronologically, and then according to the number and magnitude of headaches he’d received from each. With some painful research and a lot of help from Momoi, Aomine finds a way to donate money to Kuroko Tetsuya’s family. From what he can estimate, it should be enough to cover the funeral and any associated costs. He doesn’t want to buy out their forgiveness, so it’s given anonymously and with his best intentions.

Approaching the end of his one month leave, Aomine takes time to ensure the classification folders are tucked away in his recently dusted filing cabinet in an order he can work with. Not knowing what else to do with himself, but feeling marginally better than he’s been in a while, Aomine finds himself pulling on a pair of sweats and tucking his feet into running shoes. It’s 2 PM, and he could use a jog.

He stretches absentmindedly on his front steps, his eyes avoiding the sleek black Lincoln that’s been sitting idle in his driveway since he got it back last week. Momoi had looked up at him the day they picked it up from the shop, and with a single glance at his face, she’d volunteered to drive them both to his place.

His body warming against the frigid outdoor temperature, he paces himself down the block, and reflects on his recent irrationality. If Satsuki were to voice her thoughts, he knew she’d spout some nonsense about post-traumatic stress disorder and its long-term effects. Despite her subtle exterior, Aomine knew that there could only be a single person slipping Dr. Midorima Shintarou’s business card in his pants pockets and pillow.

Reaching his third circuit of the last seven blocks, Aomine diverges toward the neighborhood’s exit, towards the convenience store down the road. Pausing across the street from the corner store, he pats his pockets for his wallet. Unable to find it, he roots around his left and pulls out a tissue, a stick of gum and a crumpled square of blue cardstock. His right hand encounters nothing.

Shrugging, Aomine pops the stick of cinnamon gum into his mouth and tosses the linty piece of tissue. He spares a glance at the blue card, but throws it out along with the gum wrapper.

There’s no use in keeping it, as he had memorized the address quite some time ago.

He picks up speed, deciding to take a detour before heading home.

* * *

 

It’s easy to slip into the hospital and locate Dr. Shintarou’s office.

The exchange that follows hardly takes up ten minutes, yet the surprises within those ten minutes are enough to last at least a month for Aomine.

The first would be that Dr. Midorima Shintarou was not a psychologist as Daiki had suspected, but a _pathologist_ , a fancy word for _coroner_ , apparently. Unsure of what Momoi’s intentions were of heavily suggesting this doctor to him, Aomine apologizes and is ducking out of the man’s office, only to come face to face with a familiar turret of black hair and an even more familiar green jacket.

Blue-grey eyes stare up at him, while green irises bore into the back of the latter’s head.

“Takao, don’t.”

“But, Shin-chan I-“

“No, Kazunari.”

The black-haired witness bites down on his lip and peers at Aomine and back at Dr. Midorima. It is one of the most confusing exchanges Daiki’s witnessed in a while, so he turns to leave.

“Uh, right. Sorry again for intruding, I’ll just be going-“

“Please stay, I’d like to talk.” A hand has gripped onto his elbow and the green-eyed doctor sighs and shoots a look at the shorter, not-quite stranger, then walks out of the room. Aomine nods slowly.

Before he knows it, he’s sitting on a stiff chair beside the stranger, Takao, he said his name was, and having his every thought nutshelled and narrated back to him. He’s unsure of what to feel about the shorter man. While he’s relieved and even ecstatic that there is someone out there who seemingly comprehends every single one of his emotions, Daiki can’t help but be taken aback at this stranger’s knowledge. Of course he can imagine that witnessing such an event would be traumatizing, perhaps even more so than the perpetrator, but Aomine highly doubts they had experienced the same feelings and thoughts. Logically, he’d have to be an actual empath (or even psychic) as well as closer to Aomine than anyone else, perhaps even Momoi, to have understood Aomine as much as he has evidenced to.

“Shin-chan doesn’t quite want me to do this, but I think this is exactly what you need to really get back to feeling like yourself.”

There it was again. How could this man know what he hadn’t even noticed until it was glaringly and forcefully pointed out to him? Aomine hadn’t bothered to give Takao his name, but at this rate, it’d be odd to interject it. Besides, it’s not like he wouldn’t already know, based on what he’s heard so far.

Another blue piece of paper is held up to him. On the blank side of the overly familiar cardstock is a scrawled address and a name.

“I’ve yet to meet him, but I can just tell that he needs an ear to hear him out.”

Aomine has no doubt that Takao is correct. A mumbled thank you and glance at the time has Aomine bowing at the man and making his way out of the hospital, wondering what he could say to Kagami Taiga.

* * *

 

April has the cold weather nipping at the population along with the warmth of the sun.

It’s been two months since the accident, and Aomine finally finds himself standing outside the Sumida Fire Department. His return to the firm was celebrated, although not with too much unnecessary effort, just enough to motivate him back into an everyday work routine. He didn’t bother telling Momoi or his boss where he’d be going or what he’d be doing, in fact he’s almost sure that the only one who knew he was there was Takao.

The last months had Aomine turning himself inside out, tearing at his outsides to expose the raw, secret interior. It took time, but he had started the process of rebuilding himself from the outside- allowing those around him to willingly work as stitches and skin grafts where needed.

He was approaching completion, he thought. There was still a hollowed portion, though he had been so sure that it was caused by that insistent block of guilt that had finally begun to diminish, shrinking itself down into nothing, only to leave behind its worn-in cavity. It was empty and he yearned to fill it, but he knew that patience was the key to healing, and he had plenty to spare in terms of that void.

Had he waited any longer, Aomine might have built walls around that gap, keeping it to himself and giving nobody the chance _fix what was broken._ Had that been the issue, the walls would’ve become so strong, their destruction would only come from being burned down by a particularly passionate individual.

Later, Aomine would reflect of the irony of his words.

Walking into the red brick building, he quickly learned that his patience would have to shift its attention to other things very soon, namely an infuriating redhead in a white tshirt and torn jeans.

Patience, however, has never run thin for Aomine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm 98% sure I goofed up on the honorifics or name spellings somewhere, let me know if any of them are particularly annoying.  
> Two more perspectives after this, though I'm sure the tags have already told you.  
> Many thanks to all who kudo'd/bookmarked/read! :*
> 
> You can find me at zemmeline.tumblr.com


	3. Laughing With God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for the time it took for me to publish this, the misconstrued logic, many grammatical errors and anything and everything that may be incorrect within this chapter. MidoTaka are my babies and nothing I wrote seemed to do them justice the way I wanted. Exam break is coming soon, so the next chapter will (hopefully) take less time.  
> Again, many thanks for the kudos and comments!

It’s a well-known fact that the human brain consists of two main hemispheres: the left and right.

The former is associated with space and numbers. It is the mechanical side of the brain that keeps the world running smoothly. It is the side that allows humans to build and strategize, and the very same that comprehends numerical reasoning. It categorizes and compartmentalizes and keeps the world in order.

The latter deals with intuition and creativity. It is the vivid description and colorful filter that gives off moods and emotion in bursts of inspiration and unsubtle imagination. The right side is passionate and evasive, preferring to live in the moment with great ardor, using their five senses to their heart’s content. The left hemisphere works for the products of the right side. The world exists in color because of the right side.

Takao has often found it ironic how science had designated human qualities to body parts- just as select languages assign genders to inanimate objects- it’s strange, if a little unnecessary- linking abstract concepts and silly adjectives to tangible, serious objects and organs. A little like synesthesia, but without the childish rep.

For as long as he can remember, Takao Kazunari had the ability to see everything.

A single glance at even the most distant of strangers would inspire emotive tendrils of colour and snippets of whispered conversation (and if he was within close enough proximity- he’d be able to catch a whiff of perfumes, separate from the present stranger, that he’d be unable to put a name to). Takao often thought of it as a little like mind reading- the auratic projections usually giving hints to an individual’s desires or needs.

Very often, it was another person that Takao would catch whiff of, other times it would be money and material possessions- the stark scent of aged yen or mass-produced clothing bowling him over. A few times, he came across smells he wouldn’t recognize, but he himself could associate with his own memories- family and friends, a particularly beautiful three pointer or his favorite meal.

There were, however, times where he found the scents and colours overwhelming, like spending too much time in downtown Tokyo. He would become anxious and paranoid- too aware of those around him and of those who were absent.

* * *

 

Takao had not realized that his abilities were strange (read: borderline supernatural) until his grandmother pulled him aside one day. Her wrinkled face and slanted eyes were soft, completely opposite from the severe expression Takao had been expecting, as he never knew his grandmother to be a gentle woman.

They sat in her garden, the smell of the hydrangeas sticking to his clothes and memory, where she explained that his ability was a gift her mother had. In his seven year old mind, this was another stern lecture given to him out of spite, though as he aged, Takao would find himself pulling back to the memory, looking for answers that were no longer available to him.

Growing up, Takao gained the acknowledgment from his peers as a sort of prophet. The projections were helpful in many situations, providing insight to the motives of others; knowing who was lying, and providing a better understanding of the ever elusive, fairer sex. While he was praised and endlessly credited (read: pestered) in his school years, as he grew older, he learned (better than anyone else, perhaps) that adults were liars.

Honesty is a hard thing to come by nowadays, though within his comparatively short amount of years lived, he didn’t have much to go by. Turning twenty-three with very little understanding of both his powers and the entire world was becoming increasingly frustrating. Now, lying in bed next to his latest, dozing conquest, Takao began to see the many downsides that came with being an adult. Sure he had his own place, the complete freedom to do just about any and every thing, but he didn’t have much of what he needed. The blank spot in his head was crying out for something to fill it in- for love? For stability? He turned to peek at the mass of brown hair next to him. He felt nothing besides their sleepy, post-coital glow. He didn’t know what the blank space wanted, but Takao knew he wanted answers, but he wasn’t about to make a fool out of himself to find them.

So, when he spotted the ad in the morning paper’s classified section, he jumped at the chance right away.

UNIVERSITY OF TOKYO  
DEPARTMENT OF NEUROSCIENCES  
DISCREET VOLUNTEERS NEEDED  
CALL 81 3 555-3223

* * *

 

Sitting in the empty hallway a week later, Takao realized that the advertisement might’ve been a little sketchy, the 15 second phone call more so. Impulsiveness was never a dominant trait for Takao. He preferred to scope out his options before making any sort of move.

He had expected a large crowd, especially when an institution as prestigious as the University of Tokyo demanded subjects for what could be an important neurological breakthrough, though it may have been a manifestation of the ‘discreet’ qualities of the volunteers. Behind the curiosity of whatever he was called to do, Takao couldn’t help but be weary of what Midorima-san would think of his condition. From the straightforward texts and meager phone calls exchanged, Midorima-san seemed to be a no-nonsense, to-the-point character, who (as Takao’s personal experience would suggest) had no patience for pseudo-scientific gab such as Takao’s own talents, which further suggested in itself that mystical occurrences such as “auras” or “mind-reading” were valid.

He’d never had his brain scanned, though it was a thought that would often come to him on days when he was particularly mystified by his observances. There was no set reason why he’d never gotten such things checked, and now, when he suddenly found himself voluntarily in a position to have his freakshow-self put into an MRI Scanner, he’d suddenly realized that this might’ve been a terrible, terrible idea.

Upon further dissection of his painful past choices, Takao realized he was not actually clear on what he had volunteered to do. It couldn’t be harmful, right? They should be monitoring those ads and the people that post them. He was given a specific and (more importantly) public location as a meeting place, although this hall was bordering on deserted.

Before Takao could delve further into his paranoid musings, a garish orange lab coat exited the room directly across from him. Within the material was a stretch of skin, muscle, and bones. The large frame managed to be graceful, rather than lumbering, a shock of green hair brushing against dark eyeglass frames managed to steal attention away from the carrot-coloured material.

Green eyes peered down at Takao, and the air around him went still.

There was something different about this man, not quite unsettling, but Takao was all too aware of the probing energy that came from the giant.

There were extensions of the man in front of him, feeling around in the stagnant air, and then twining around Takao, giving off a heady sensation that could be associated with a lover’s touch.

There, in the abandoned hallway, within the first twelve seconds of this new man coming into his life, Takao realized that he was not alone after all.

* * *

Sometime between Midorima’s entrance and Takao’s awkward self-introduction, he realized that whatever he was feeling was not meant to be sensed by him at all. If Midorima-san was anything like him, he’d have to approach the matter delicately, subtly so not to scare him away-

“You’re not normal, are you?”

Or not.

“P-pardon?” Instead of a response, he received a _tch_ and a wave of hand that invited him into a cramped office. On the wall were immaculate copies of various degrees, diplomas and certificates awarded to Midorima Shintarou from the University of Tokyo, the large desk in the corner boasting of the taller man’s tidiness.

“The human brain is genetically wired to feel attraction to those who are the least genetically similar to themselves,” Midorima started. “This is determined mostly by the olfactory segment of the brain, which is the most adept at picking up on hormone variation. “ He positioned his chair directly in front of him. “In short,” his eyes flicked up to meet mine “It’s believed that certain individuals can sniff out their best matches.” He wasn’t finished however, because from another drawer in his desk, he’d taken out a thick stack of medical journals and printouts

“However, instant attraction is always the result of the human brain’s evaluation of one’s face,” After flicking through a few of the magazines, the green-eyed man selected one and flipped to a diagram of what Takao was almost sure was a human brain. “The _rostromedial prefrontal cortex_ , is what really makes you step back and think about compatibility.” Takao peers down at the doctor’s gesturing as he goes on about lobes and medullas. A break in the pleasant flow of words alerts the shorter man into saying something.

“So, you put this ad up to find a boyfriend?” It passed his lips before he could stop it, but instead of flared nostrils and angrily slanted eyebrows, Takao was met with Dr. Midorima’s smirk.

“Not at all, Kazunari.”

* * *

  
Within an hour of meeting Midorima Shintarou, Takao knew without a doubt that he was the strangest person he’d ever know. The two mismatched men sprawled on equally mismatched office chairs and discussed their encounters with people, mostly complaining about the weirdoes and the added effect their talents had on said oddballs. Midorima, it seemed was the exact opposite of skeptical when it came to strange, pseudoscientific talents and phenomena and Takao had no problem divulging the features of his own powers, while becoming more privy to his companion’s experiences.

Midorima didn’t seem to possess any outright supernatural ability, but there was a definite presence of interest ranging from astrology to paranormal occurrences. If Takao was to judge the now relaxed tendrils of energy surrounding Midorima, he’d say he was bordering on psychic due to the immense amounts of intuition he could feel from him. When he brought this up, however, the doctor dismissed it with a wave of his hand and more medical rambling in his calm baritone

Time seemed to pass quicker within the intimate four walls of Shintarou’s office, so it came to a surprise to the both of them when night had fallen and neither had even thought about bringing up the real reason for their appointment. The comfortable silence within the lapse in conversation came to an end when Midorima cleared his throat.

“It’s gotten late, and I really shouldn’t keep you here for much longer.” He stood up, but when Takao tried to follow, a hand was held up to him, keeping him in place. He shuffled to the pristine, black filing cabinet opposite his desk and pulled out a sheet of stiff paper.

“I’ve determined you as a successful candidate for the Neurological-Emotive Processing and Neuron Analysis Project. This is to inform you of the expectations and regulations. We’ve included our ethical stances and insurance policies.” The hand reaching up to self-consciously adjust their owner’s glasses alerted Takao of insecurity before Midorima’s shifting aura had.

“Of course, it will require a full time commitment from you. For a set amount of time, at least. If you don’t mind, of course.” Takao at this point is sparing Midorima further embarrassment by pretending to read the slip of paper given to him. He lets 5 ticks of the clock pass before looking up and smiling. “I’m in.”

* * *

 

In the frigid air of the nighttime sky, Takao realizes he’s still not completely sure what it is he’s volunteered for. Granted, he’s not as worried anymore now that he’s met the doctor whose large, capable hands he’ll give himself over to. A smile comes to his face at the thought of Midorima Shintarou- he’s very strange, but he was not dismissive of Takao’s abilities, and an engaging speaker to boot.

In the silent air of the nighttime sky, Takao realizes how dark-and cold- it truly is. He brings the collar of his green peacoat further up his body, and stuffs his frozen hands in his pockets, brushing against the stiff, folded square of his earlier agreement. His sneaker clad feet slide a little on the slick sidewalk, but he catches himself.

In the empty air of the nighttime sky, Takao realizes how quiet back roads are. There is no warmth of another person- no other being is near enough for their auras to become known to him- until there is. It’s a man with bright hair and a faint color. It’s puzzling and unlikely, but it’s not the first time Takao’s seen one like it. His pace is unhurried, and the air doesn’t carry over his scent, but Takao knows from one glimpse of the vague projections that this is a smitten man.

If he had gotten closer and spoken to this man, he’d notice that he was correct in his assumption that the man was in love. However, had the next 10 minutes not taken place, they both may have received the chance to come to terms with the fact that this man was enamoured with a concept, his true love being freedom. The red-haired firefighter caught up in this was an anchor- aiding the blue-eyed man in keeping afloat, though only in one place.

It’s because of the following events, Takao is not only unable to approach or even appreciate the man. He notices, much too late, that his aura is not only faint, but it is fading at an alarming pace. He cannot conjure up his grandmother’s words, the ones that seem so long ago, because there is a crash, then a crack, and then absolute stillness.

In the silent air of the nighttime sky, his grandmother’s voice resounds: “no one’s aura should ever diminish while they are alive, take care to pay attention to this, Kazunari.”

* * *

 

Three distinct things happened to Takao within those ten minutes.

He stood shock still, not quite understanding what had happened until a rolling can of vegetable broth bumps against his toes (1). A man stumbles out of the vehicle, just as panicked and distraught as Takao, perhaps more so since-

He realizes the man doesn’t have an aura. (2)

Before Takao can seize up further, he whips around at the sound of a yell to see several individuals running towards the tableau, and none of them have auras either. He’s not sure what jerks him back to reality, perhaps it’s a dormant sense of responsibility, or the shock on the other man’s face, but he takes care of things from there. (3)

That’s what he tells Midorima when they meet again three days later. Takao hasn’t been sleeping. Not since he witnessed the man tumble into the water, not since seeing the driver’s (Aomine-kun, his companion had called him) anguished face and especially not since receiving the news that the bright-haired man had died that morning.

A part of him hoped that the lack of sleep could lead him into hallucinating the familiar colours and smells; deluding himself into thinking it was alright. The first time he sees Midorima without his aura, and the second time they ever meet, Takao realizes how lost he really feels.

It’s a little past midnight, a cathartic position of the clock’s hands that Takao feels unworthy of. He had filled Midorima in on every crucial detail, and some less important ones, but he keeps the truth about his powers from Midorima until the very end of their 6 hour long meeting.

The doctor is scratching at his seven hours past 5 o’clock shadow, a frown on his face, but no furrow between his brows.

“Why did you volunteer for this, Takao?” Without the curious aura he felt on Midorima, he realizes that his voice holds an impressive level of authority and a terrifying amount of conviction. He’s intimidating. At this revelation, he wonders if he’d gotten everyone he met completely wrong his entire life.

“I guess wanted to know about the auras, my power. Myself too, if I could get there.”

“So you wouldn’t be opposed to continuing? If it’s not an issue of commitments, that is.” Takao glances up at that. Midorima looks away and waits for Takao’s response. He looks apathetic, but the situation is not unlike the one from three days ago.

“Yeah, I’m still on board if you are.”

Midorima turns to look at him, and for the very first time in Takao’s 23 years, he cannot tell what a person is thinking. He gives a nod.

* * *

 

“So I have to talk to them? All of them?” Takao feel more incredulous than anything else. A pack of high school girls are giggling at something on their phones less than 20 feet away from the duo. “I’ll look like a total creep, Shin-Chan.” Midorima became Shin-Chan not long after they’d first ventured out on their excursions. He buckled down on Takao the day after their agreement was thoroughly established. It started with tentative measurements on complicated sounding/looking machines, an hour holding himself still within the confines of an MRI scanner and hours of memorizing how to identify everything from basic human emotions to emotional implications behind even the most miniscule shifting of muscles- standard procedure, apparently.

Midorima had become even stranger as the time passed between them. Takao learned of Shin-Chan’s habits and quirks quickly: he had a strange way of speaking, and only adjusted his eyeglasses when deep in thought. The bandages on Shin-Chan’s fingers had stemmed from an adolescent habit of biting his nails; he’d tape them up, but continued even when he grew out of chewing on them. He was a Cancer, but very un-nurturing and if you weren’t paying attention, almost devoid of emotion. He was also very compatible with Scorpios, which happened to be Takao’s sun sign. Midorima Shintarou was a man of science though he was strangely devoted to superstition and the paranormal. He was the most intriguing man Takao had ever met.

Three weeks into their study, Takao finds himself standing in a park a few blocks away from the University. The green mop of hair is poring over its messily scrawled notes, not even dignifying Takao’s complaints with a placating glance. Annoying.

Turning around, Takao breathes in and goes to test his shaky empathy on an unsuspecting group of teenaged girls.

“Excuse me!” A pink finger nail is tapping at his right shoulder. He turns to meet a harmless, but vaguely famliliar looking pair of rose-coloured eyes and the distant, retreating figure of Midorima in his peripheral, the traitor.

“Your friend dropped this, I tried getting his attention but I don’t think he heard me,” chirps the pink lady. A thick stack of blue cards sit neatly on her palm and Takao can’t help but wonder where his companion had kept it. And then he realizes that dropping an entire order of his own business cards was out of character for Shin-Chan, not to mention an incredibly poor attempt at networking. Happily turning away from the incessant clucking of adolescent girls, Takao smiles at the woman, taking the dropped goods from her.

“Ah! Thank you, Shin-Chan’s a little clumsy, I’ll be sure to return this to him.” He tucks the cards into his hoodie and peers at her curiously, “I’m Kazunari Takao, nice to meet you.” The bright smile she shines his way accompanied by the friendly chime of her name (Momoi Satsuki) pulls the air out of his lungs.

“You were at the accident in January, with the driver.” Her pretty smile slips from her face and Takao knows that he had made a misstep. “I-I was there too, I witnessed the crash, he died a few days later- uh, so I’ve heard. It was awful- I’m doing a terrible job of this, I’m sorry.” Takao can’t look at her, he’s too busy glaring at the asphalt and cursing the absence of his power and Midorima Shintarou and-

“No, it’s okay. You’re right it was awful. ” Looking up, Takao sees that Momoi is clutching at the strap of her shoulder bag with both hands, making herself smaller- self-protection, he realizes. She is a woman, she needs comfort and even without an aura, Takao is already predisposed to giving it. He is back in familiar territory and he feels he can turn his failed interaction around.

That is, until she bursts into tears.

“I’m sorry! It’s just so terrible! Tetsuo-kun didn’t deserve to die and Aomine-kun’s being so hard on himself. I feel so crummy because I can’t do anything about anyone dying.” She is wailing quietly into his sleeve now. Takao ignores the stares they’re receiving and tries to calmly navigate his onto a bench a few feet from them. Taking a page out of the movie he watched not too long ago, he smoothes her hair and pats her head in an attempt to be comforting.

It works, he thinks. When she seems to have calmed down, they walk to a kiosk selling popsicles and he treats her to one. They wander around for a while, snippets of small talk punctuating the friendly silence.

“So, Takao-kun. Are you and Dr. Midorima close?” Starting a little at the question, Takao answers after a moment.

“You could say that. We had just met recently, but we’ve spent a lot of time together since I’m helping him with an experiment.”

“Oh, what kind of experiment?” Takao launches into a condensed summary of their agreement, leaving out the parts regarding his ability. He had volunteered for neurological testings measuring cognitive ability and their links to emotions. Takao had figured it would help him out socially, as far as Momoi knew. Her expression is one of intruigue. “What kind of doctor is he?”

Takao pulls the cards out of his pocket, a little ashamed that he didn’t know either.

“A neurologist, it says, with a background in forensic pathology. Huh.” He was so sure Shin-Chan was conducting these for some sort of psychological purpose, and he tells Momoi as much. Wanting to placate the look of mild concern on her face, he’s sure to tell her of the immense wisdom and coping skills received and learned from Shin-Chan. At the end of his tirade, she looks at him curiously and asks for a few of Midorima’s business cards.

“I have a friend, or several, who may be interested.”

* * *

After parting ways with Momoi at the Neurology building’s main entrance (with exchanged numbers and promises to meet up for coffee), Takao skips down to Shin-Chan’s glorified broom closet. Compared to their first meeting, stepping into the same room with Shin-Chan is no longer as electric as it had been initially, as his abilities were gone, but there was still a sort of palpable energy  that seemed to swirl around the man. 

“What exactly were you planning on getting out of this?” Dropping the cards on his desk and flopping down in a chair, Takao waits for an answer. The green haired man adjusts his glasses and studies Takao with an electric stare. 

“You look better. Did you have a good time?” Takao fixes him with his own stare and laughs. 

“Were you trying to set me up? Oh god, Shin-Chan please tell me you weren’t trying to get me-“ 

“I was not, Kazunari.” The energy was back at full force, enough to make Takao hold his breath, to question if he had lost his ability at all. Midorima had closed onto him. He was close enough for Takao to smell the cotton of his bandages and (surprisingly pleasant) coffee breath. Green bored into him, splitting him open from his retinas, eliciting a twinge of something deep in his belly. From the gentle grip on his jaw, Kazunari expected something more- a smile, a word of praise, perhaps even kiss if proximity had any word in there. Instead they held each other in those positions, allowing a live wire to run between them, waiting for the electricity to expire, to use up its source, but the interruption never came. 

“Shin-Chan?” 

“Hm?” 

“Why am I the only subject in this experiment?” Warm hands pried themselves from Takao’s face and moved to rest on his thighs. 

“There is no experiment.” 

Silence.

“Come again?” His hands are still on his own thighs, and it’s starting to mess with his head. 

“They pulled my funding, Kazunari, right after we had met. They believed my proposal to be paranormal junk, and I was told to move into the Arts faculty if I was to be taken seriously.” He spat it out, like he had been keeping it for too long. 

“Hey, don’t shit on the Arts, Shin-Chan.” He manages to pull a weak chuckle from the doctor. “So, why’d you keep this going, was it for my sake?” 

Midorima is staring again, but before Takao can ask the other questions looming behind his eyes, the doctor embraces him. 

“I had just met you, but you looked so lost- I didn’t feel like you were the same person I had spoken to just days before.” Taken aback by the sudden emotion in Midorima’s voice, Takao settles for silently stroking his hair. “I was a little like you once, but I’d lost it.” A bitter laugh. “Spending too much time alone in basements can cause that.” 

Shin-Chan’s melancholy reaches him just before another realization does, one that spells out cold tragedies and first meetings. 

“Shin-Chan,” Takao is pulling away from Midorima’s hold.  “You lied to me- the first time, I mean. You said you’d never had any sort of power.” 

He’s given a gentle smile, but his warm hands retreat. 

“I didn’t want you to become reliant on a half-hearted possibility. You seemed like you were lonely, and while I knew I could sympathize, I could not empathize, not completely.” Takao envelopes his warm hands in his own. “I didn’t want to give you any false hope in finding a home.” 

“Well, you know what they say about making homes in people.” 

“No, I can’t say I do.” 

“Oh. That’s fine then, we can just stick to wandering together.” He’s not quite sure if it makes any sense to Shin-Chan and his PhD-conditioned brain, but the warmth of his lips against him own is all he needs for the winter.


	4. Just For a Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, so sorry this took so long. Thank you so much to all of you who've stayed, even those who didn't, I appreciate all of you who deemed this interesting enough to start.  
> For anyone interested, Jimmy Eat World's Hear You Me were on repeat while writing this. Super sad this is over, but definitely looking forward to starting a new story. :)

Humans are social beings- granted, they are hardly the only ones.

Whatever supernatural entity Kuroko has become, he can’t shake the unquenchable need for company. He’s not sure if it was acquired from the whole ‘ _dying_ ’ thing, or a newly-sprouted, if not repressed aspect of his own personality, so he can’t help but ignore it at first.

Walking away from Kagami had been less difficult than he had anticipated. His anchor and light were aweigh and dimmed enough that Kuroko could call himself independent despite the undeniable attachment that was still there. His feelings for Taiga are no longer keeping him stationary- he is mobile and _free, free, free,_ with Taiga’s memory affixed just behind him and the gentle warmth of his light within his core.

There was nothing left for him within the four walls of their shared apartment, not even Taiga or Nigou’s company on most days. Though Kuroko had never followed them, he was sure they had moved in with Aomine in all but name. Kagami was happier and much, much busier since the first day he’d brought Aomine to their place. He wore that familiar smile more often as well.

Physically leaving (as much as a ghost can) was the most challenging. Having so easily let his half-life-long crush on Kagami go, Kuroko expected that what little material possessions were still stored in his room would be left without a second thought. Instead, he spent additional hours staring at the spines of his favorite novels, almost wishing for those days (months ago) where staring at his bookshelf was his only option. For old time’s sake, Kuroko tried once again to slide _Chikamatsu Monzaemon’s Collected Works Vol. 3_ out from between the second and fourth volumes. None of the books budged, not even a little bit.

Kuroko smiled gently and let himself fade out of the room, quick enough that he missed the heavy, muted _thump_ of a fallen tome that followed his departure.

* * *

 

Contrary to Kuroko’s earlier hypothesis appointing Kagami as home base, and his only reason for remaining on a material plane, he found his vision clearer than ever. People, animals and things; dead, alive and in between were visible to him, although he noted with humor that he was not existing to all these beings.

His first run-in with another technically dead, ghost-type _in betweener_ leaves him uneasy, but not in the way Kuroko expects.

There had been a giant, looming block of a man, with bright hair and sad eyes. He stood behind an unoccupied bench, gazing at the smooth wood like it was his dearest friend. The only thing that alerted Kuroko to his living status (or otherwise) were the vivid colours he wore, distinguishing him from the warm blooded pulses that filled the bustling square. He’s not sure why he stays rooted beside a fire hydrant positioned opposite from the tableau.

Kuroko takes in the sight, ignored by all those unaware and alive. The giant was inhaling and exhaling steadily, almost meditatively, although it was clear that the man had left his lungs and their purpose long ago. He continued observing the lonely giant, not sure why he was lingering until another body, wrinkled and unassuming, hobbles up to the bench (and man) in question.

It’s another man, shrunken with age and hunched with time, but there’s fierce compassion evident in the aged expression. The daily paper is taken from the folds of his jacket, shaking hands pull at the pages gently, and gnarled fingers play with the edges of the coarse material as gentle eyes roam the words that no longer hold any meaning to the dead. Meanwhile, the purple haired youth (much younger in appearance now that the old man is present) has moved to sit beside the man and looks on with a phlegmatic face, but tender eyes, his gaze never leaving the aged being.

“How long have you been waiting here for him?” Kuroko asks. Without displacing his stare, the man with the hooded eyes answers in a soft voice.

“I don’t need time, I’ve forgotten its meaning.”

* * *

 

Kuroko drifts away from the corner they occupy and wonders how long it will be until the two are at peace together.

* * *

 

Sitting by Sumida becomes a habit for Kuroko, more out of convenience than sentimentality, although it is quiet and often thought provoking just to hear the rushing water. His encounter with the purple haired youth has not left the forefront of his mind, the bitter tang of having to leave his own loved ones resurfacing quickly.

That single exchange brought up so many questions- how long will he be here? Is it the same for everyone? Is it forever? Is this purgatory? Can he leave? Where would he go? Will his loved ones ever see him again in this post-lifetime? The torrents of questions both already pondered and new, scary realizations, bubble up to the surface of his conscience.

A tentative tap on the shoulder rouses him from himself. Kuroko almost turns to meet the owner of the hand before he realizes truly how long it’s been since he’s felt another’s touch.

He whips around then, startling the man, who holds his hands up by his face.

“I-I’m sorry. Please, I’m a little disoriented, and I just needed to be sure I’m not, like going crazy.” The stranger rubs the back of his neck and smiles, embarrassed. “I, uh, thank you. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

With a blonde bow of his head, the strangers moves to leave, but Kuroko speaks up.

“Wait.”

There’s something unusual about the man. He is bright, so bright and light shines from him. It bounces off his hair, catches the gold in his eyes, and his skin gleams like a saint’s would. He is an angel, Kuroko decides, an angel that has been sent down from a heaven to take him to a different inbetween.

And then a smile blinds Kuroko, it’s small, just a flash of teeth and kind eyes. Wings may have sprouted from his back as well.

“Tell me your name.” Was that his voice?

“Kise Ryouta,” And there’s the halo. “What’s yours?”

* * *

 

The calm June currents that ripple the Sumida are the only movements for a long time.

Kise (yellow, how lovely) sits by Kuroko, on the rocks, facing each other, not quite in silence. There are unspoken questions, none of them are owed an answer between the two strangers, and Kuroko is content to study the angelic being before him, who continues to smile, even while twiddling his fingers nervously, trying to find the words to tell his story.

“I think it was a ski accident, sometime around Valentine’s Day. I remember a ski resort and drinks with Akiko-Chan and her acting friends.” His face scrunches up as he struggles to recall memories that Kuroko is soon to become privy to. He listens attentively, sincerely wishing to help.

“I’m still fuzzy on what happened after, but when I woke up, Momoicchi was beside me, crying and I couldn’t hold her. She didn’t notice me wake up, and nobody can even see me besides you.” His bottom lips wobbles, and Kuroko looks at it, unsure what to do. Suddenly, his hand is enveloped by strong fingers belonging to a hand almost completely foreign to him. His eyes shoot up to meet Kise’s trying to comprehend the sudden string of events.

“It’s awful Kurokocchi. I saw my own body! It was laying there, I was standing beside it and my friends and my parents were crying- I looked dead! I think I am dead, but my heart is still beating, I can still feel it, see?” The feeling of his own pale hand pressed against a solid chest to a strongly beating heart was so real and tender, that Kuroko believed for a moment that his own heart beat within the confines of his ribcage, and he wanted to feel Kise’s pulse beside his own.

A whimper might have escaped his lips, because Kise’s expression shifted, his eyebrows pulling together in concern.

“Kurokocchi? What’s wrong, are you okay?”

“I apologize, Kise-san. I’m just a little overwhelmed; I haven’t met many people like me since I er- left.” The overly familiar man just smiles at him gently and pats at the smaller man’s hands.

“Well, if it wouldn’t be too much, could we stick together, Kurokocchi?”

* * *

 

Kuroko learns quickly that Kise thinks of everyone as a close friend and further believes that the feelings are reciprocated. But as just that, the feelings shared between platonic friends.

Kuroko is still a stranger, smitten, but not a complete familiar to the beautiful man. He blames the prolonged loneliness the afterlife afforded him for making him so crazy after the first friendly points of contact from another beating heart in so long. Kise was apparently a model, it’s his job to be charming and good looking, but Kuroko can’t help but notice the emotional depth this seemingly shallow being has presented to him. He isn’t all surface, with his easy-going chattering and golden eyes. The sun seeps out of him even when he is not quite alive, and he has retained the human vibrations in this half-life, pulling Kuroko deeper into him without effort.

They continue to talk, Kuroko finding use of his tongue again. Stories are shared between them, Kise’s eyes sparkling as he recounts the times he went for karaoke with co-workers and meeting his sports idols at corporate functions. They speak volumes of the human condition, the simple things that bring nostalgia to the dead, and Kuroko can’t help but smile.

Kuroko tells Kise about his own confusion, sympathizes with the depersonalization he experienced at his own funeral, about Kagami and his unexpected sensitivity, about Aomine and the tenderness the two hold for each other. And Kise listens to the quiet tenor, wondering about the blue eyed man.

His voice tapers off, leaving the pair in a contented silence, looking out at the darkening sky, the stars already visible if one would angle their head just a little higher. Kise interrupts the silence with Kuroko’s name.

“You loved Kagami-kun, didn’t you?”

“I did, I loved him very much. However, when I saw him with Aomine-kun, I realized that I couldn’t have that kind of love with him. I still do feel as strongly as I always have, I’m just aware now that there are different forms of love, and ours was the best suited for me and him.”

“I admire that very much, Kurokocchi.”

Pulling his eyes away from the stars, Kuroko meets Kise’s gaze- it’s hooded by his long eyelashes and coming closer to his own face. Kuroko can’t help but smile.

They kiss and it’s timid for someone as confident as Kise, but not at all lacking in passion. Kise is warm, still as human as one can be while making out with a ghost, and Kuroko can feel the steady heartbeat through his clothes, the one he shares with the body that is undoubtedly still somewhere in Tokyo. The man is sunlight and his kisses are fire, warming Kuroko from the inside.

Just as the sun heats, the kisses increase in fervor and they press closer to each other, lips parting and teeth pulling at each other. Hands begin to wander, there are no clothes that obstruct skin from touching skin, nerves are unnecessary for feeling each other’s touches. They’ve reached some kind of otherworldly pleasure where intoxication happens with proximity and Kuroko is so sure in that moment that they are fusing together. Cold blue, isolated for so long melts into his effervescent lover, who peppers his thigh with wet kisses and sweet nips of teeth. Long before they reach any semblance of immobile satisfaction, Kuroko swears that they share a heartbeat.

* * *

 

“Have things ever slipped away from you?”

Kuroko’s head rests on Kise’s chest, neither of them are clothed, and neither of them are at all bothered by it.

“Yes, at one time I believed that I was crossing over, but I’ve learned recently that it’s voluntary.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think that if you have a reason to stay here, you’ll put it off for as long as you need.”

“So was Kagami your reason for staying?”

“He was initially, I imagine that a benevolent god gave me the chance to see clearly before I passed over.”

“So why didn’t you go right after you’d solved everything?” A smile and a peck on the lips.

“I felt that I missed something.”

* * *

 

Without the need for sleep and sustenance, Kuroko found he and Kise indulging more than he would’ve thought possible months ago. It’s unclear whether the stamina came with desire or the afterlife, but Kuroko was thankful for it nonetheless.

Kise still panted with unneeded breaths during the come-down, which brought more questions to Kuroko’s mind.

“Kise-kun, are you planning on going back to your body?” Kise was nuzzling into Kuroko’s neck, where he mumbled something unintelligible.

“Come again?” He took the blonde head into his hands, cradling his face, but Kise wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t know, Kurokocchi.”

“And why’s that?” A confused cock of the eyebrow.

“I- I just don’t know if it would be worth it, or if it would even be possible.”

“Kise-kun, of course it’s worth it, every life is worth it.”

“I know, that’s not what I meant! I just, I mean, I’ve been in a coma for months. Would I be the same person? With the same abilities and able-bodiedness?” Kise looks at Kuroko, his eyebrows pull together. “Would I remember you, or would I forget about you completely? I don’t know which one would hurt more.”

Kuroko takes Kise into his arms, stroking his hair. Knowing that Kise’s considered the same things as his partner makes him feel all the more connected to the beautiful man.

“I think you should do what feel right for you, Ryouta. But don’t base it off assumptions that you have no way of knowing the answer to.” He shuts his eyes, leaning into his touch.

“I need more time to think.” Kuroko drops a kiss on his head.

“Of course.”

* * *

 

They find themselves wandering the banks of the Sumida. It’s early spring, the air still brisk and nipping at the warm blooded beings who make their way to work and school, faces buried into their scarves and head tucked into hats.

Kise and Kuroko are inexplicably un-naked once more. Kuroko hopes that their states of undress are a result of mutual wanting rather than the works of an omniscient being, sensitive to the wants of dead men. The pair walk side by side comfortably, hands concealed within each other’s.

“Did you know, I heard voices.” Kuroko looks at Kise, letting him know he wasn’t following.“Isn’t that a question most people have when their loved ones are in comas? I knew what my parents were saying to me, but everything was dark, I thought it was a dream.”

“But before that, or maybe along with it, I’m not sure, I could hear other people’s voices. I remember a lady whispering, it wasn’t a voice I recognized either. Later there was crying, and sometimes screaming. Maybe that’s why I was afraid of waking up at first.”

Kuroko ponders this. Was it hallucinatory? A shred of the universe? Stranger things have happened, and Kuroko wasn’t about to invite more of that by thinking about it.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Kise-kun. You must’ve been scared.” To Kuroko’s surprise, he shakes his head.

“Not at all, it felt familiar, even if it was unsettling. I didn’t want to leave, letting go of the security was what scared me.” A chill runs up Kuroko’s spine. He takes Kise’s face and kisses the soft lips he’s come to know so intimately.

“I’m glad you did though.”

* * *

 

Neither Kuroko nor Kise are ready when Kise feels the pull of his body, stronger than it was in all the time they’d spent together, an arbitrary measurement to the sleeping and the dead.

Kise panics, Kuroko is unsure of what to do, but they can only follow the invisible rope that tugs at Kise, forcing him back to his corporeal anchor. Kise’s hand in Kuroko’s shakes and he turns to look at him as they are pulled to another reality-

“I never wanted to leave you, Kurokocchi.” Kuroko can feel the familiar pinch at the back of his eyes, his unbeating heart lodged in his throat. “I know.” It’s all he can muster up, but he knows Kise can feel his sentiments.

All too soon, University of Tokyo’s Neurological Research Hospital comes into view. They clasp their hands tighter, Kise being led by some unknown force and Kuroko helplessly being pulled in his reluctant wake. Kuroko has to fight the urge to clamp his eye shut, trying to prepare himself for the pain of losing a loved one to life, of all things. Despite this, Kuroko thinks to himself, he’s happy that Kise gets another shot at life.

The bland hospital room they’re eventually plunked into is colored strangely by the piles of flowers in various states of bloom and decay, but accented particularly by too many people to fit comfortable in one room. There’s a lurch that both of them feel at the knowledge that these are all Kise’s family and close friends, Kuroko, however, is mostly bewildered by the appearance of Kagami Taiga, standing next to an equally sombre Aomine.

“Kuroko, I think they’re about to pull the plug.” Kise state out loud what he had still been trying to deduce, but he can’t speak with so many things happening so quickly.

There is a green haired man wearing a white doctor’s coat and a grave expression. He is speaking quietly to a crying woman- Kise’s mother, it seems, accompanied by a man and two younger women. Kise’s family. To the side, also listening to the doctor is a pink haired girl, flanked by Aomine and Kagami. Kuroko realizes that he and Kise may be more closely linked than they’d suspected. Towards the back, a sharp-eyed man looks on detached, but sympathetic.

On the hospital bed, Kise lies unresponsive- his skin pale and grey; the sight almost brings Kuroko to his knees. Kise is beside him still, watching his loved ones nervously, hand gripping Kuroko’s harder. The light streaming through the window puts the otherwise somber scene in a cheerful light, reminiscent of Kise.

Kuroko thinks of the people in this room losing a son, a brother, and a friend in a few minutes. He doesn’t dare speak, waiting for Kise to talk first, allowing him the chance to breaking the mournful atmosphere, even just between them. True to himself, he doesn’t make Kuroko wait long.

“I guess I spoke too soon, huh Kurokocchi?” His voice cracks towards the end of his sentence and Kuroko’s heart breaks once again. Without meaning to, they sink to the floor together, Kuroko holding Kise like he’d break at any moment.

They watch from their position on the ground. Momoi, the pink haired girl, kissed Kise’s cheek and shared her goodbyes, Aomine took his limp hand and relayed his own farewell, Kagami paying his respects alongside him. There are a few more friends, Akiko-chan, and his manager, (Kasamatsu-sempai, Kise murmurs to him) make an appearance, the latter thanking him sincerely and bowing deeply.

In his final moments, Kise’s sisters held his hands, his mother kissed his face and whispered her goodbyes into his ear, while his father touched his only son’s head tenderly. The words exchanged send tremors through Kise, who wraps his arms around Kuroko’s wrist and pulls his hand to his chest, at the place right over his heart. They don’t feel when the plug is pulled, instead, they witness the slowing of Kise’s heartbeat, the complete shutdown of all his inner organs, and then –finally- Kise’s heart stills.

By that time, Kise’s family and the doctor are the only ones in the room. His mother leaves another kiss on her son’s forehead and they leave with the doctor, who goes off to arrange for his body’s transportation to the basement mortuary.

Kise had been silent the whole time, trembling in Kuroko’s arms, both their hands still positioned over his heart. Kuroko can’t help but notice that Kise is still as warm as he always was.

* * *

 

It’s some time before they help each other up, Kise’s corpse is already gone and the hospital room already morbidly sanitized and ready for its next occupant. The tears had stopped falling from both their eyes, but Kise had insisted they sit there for a while longer.

“I love you, Kurokocchi.” It’s the first thing out of Kise’s mouth in so long, but the ache of needing to hear his voice ceases at those words. Kuroko pulls him down for a kiss, which is returned just as sweetly.

“I love you too, Kise-kun.”

* * *

 

Nigou sits on top of the couch. His head is perched on his paws and he revels in the calm quiet the starry night sky brings. It’s dark out, and he worries briefly that these owners won’t come back home either.

A sudden light perks his attention. He sees two figures, one is the pale blue sky and the other is a bright yellow sun, and he is happy, so happy to see them walk together hand in hand, heading for some unknown destination. The light lasts a few more moments and then leaves, returning the night sky to its former peace.

He settles his head back onto the couch, drifting to sleep and dreaming of blue eyes and the smell of books.


End file.
